We Were Never Heroes
by WillowFawn
Summary: We tried to save the world, but we couldn't even save ourselves.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The soft creak of stairs under booted feet broke the deep silence. On the top landing, a door long kept locked swung noiselessly open. Moonlight spilled into the hall, quickly shut again behind the heavy oak.

In the soft light, the room was a place outside of time. He could hear again the throaty laughter, the sighs of a lover seventeen years gone. For a moment he could hardly breath, remembering.

He was almost afraid to slide the stone from its place, but the box still lay behind it. With shaking hands he drew the intricately carven wood into the light.

Inside the chest lay a single blue rose, preserved by some nameless magic. Its delicate scent breathed of simpler times. They had been so young then. Had they truly not seen where their path would lead? With a hush of rustling petals, he laid it tenderly aside.

The green and silver scarf beneath still smelled of Regulus. With tears burning his eyes, he clutched it to himself. Grey eyes haunted him, and this too he set aside.

Moving to return the box to its hiding place, he paused. Something else lay in the bottom. An artist's fingers caressed the smooth leather as he withdrew it. Trembling, they slid over the letters there.

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

With trembling hands, he opened it to the first page...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_1979_

_Sirius once called me coward. Today, let me refute that name. And if you are reading this, tell my brother that I did not die on my knees. I, Regulus Black, shall be craven no longer. I go to my death, but I do not regret it. I have lived and loved and, oh my prince I shall miss you, but I die to save you. _

_Remember me._

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

The tears he had been holding back from his first step into the room spilled over, breaking through sixteen years of necessary numbness. He had never cried for Regulus' death. Had he shown any sorrow for the dead traitor he would have shared his fate. Many times he wished he had, but it had not been his time. Regulus' courage had been in dying; his was in living. But now at last he could mourn the boy who had died so young. He covered his face with his scarred hands and wept.

When his tears had slowed, he raised his head and his gaze slid caressingly over the green and silver banners that decorated the walls. The scarf he had put aside found its way into his hands again, and he unbuttoned his collar to wrap the soft length closer to his skin. The presence of his lost lover was strong, and somehow the room seemed warmer.

Beginning on the next page, the first entries were few and far between, written in a looping hand too grown up for the child their author had been.

_September 1, 1970_

_Cissy sent an owl. Siri is in Gryffindor. Mother is screaming. I wish she would stop. I don't like it when she screams. _

_December 30, 1970_

_Siri didn't come home for Christmas. He hasn't even owled. What did I do? I know Siri hates mother. They used to scream in the halls. But he loved me. We're brothers. _

He forced down the anger that rose in his throat. Despite what the elder Black though, Regulus had adored his brother. This, then, was where it had begun. He should have known. Regulus was always running after his brother, trying to prove that he could be as good as Sirius was, trying to prove that he could get along without him. What might Regulus have been if Sirius had not forgotten him?

He remembered the first time he had seen the younger Black.

[…_September 1__st__, 1972..._

_The castle was quiet. Wide-eyed first years had been bundled off to bed. The older members of this house too had disappeared into their respective dorms. The only sound above the muted crackle of the fire was the soft rustle of turning pages as he read, so the footsteps were startlingly loud. _

_When he looked up, the small form silhouetted against the flames had its back to him. It took him a moment to realize that the shaking of the slight shoulders was not an illusion of the dancing light. The boy was crying. _

_He hadn't been at all sorry to leave his own home, and he wasn't the most empathetic of people, but the small boy seemed so desolate, and he wouldn't get anything done with the child there. He got up. At the sound, the figure before the fire whirled, scrubbing furiously at its eyes _

"_I already know you were crying," He said, with the matter-of-fact bluntness of a twelve-year-old._

"_And?" Demanded a cultured young voice._

_The first year stepped away from the flames and he knew._

"_You're Black's brother."_

_That changed things. He abruptly wished that he had left well enough alone. _

"_You know my brother?"_

_There was something like longing in the rough young voice._

"_We've met."_

_Regulus looked hurt._

"_You don't like him."_

"_He's an arse."_

_The younger boy looked down, seemingly struggling with himself._

"_He hasn't talked to me since Christmas," He confessed at last._

_He suddenly understood why the boy had been crying._

"_Not even at the feast?"_

_The first-year choked on a sob._

"_Your brother is an arse," He repeated._

_The youngest Black smiled shakily._

"_My brother is a first-class wanker."_

_He thought maybe he would like this boy after all._

"_Would you like to sit with me while I finish my reading?"_

_Regulus' smile widened._

"_I would."_

_And he found he didn't mind the warm body close to his, breathing in rhythm to the turning of __pages.]_

…

Black had always been dense.


End file.
